foreign space - poetry&prose

Teeth

i swear to god, if they exist,
i will rip my skin with my teeth if it means
to find myself underneath again.

keep telling me to try my best,
i'll show you that this cocoon is not mine,
that when it goes through metamorphosis it turns into
not a butterfly, a moth, a dragonfly! —

but into venom, sticky, inky black venom
this is not my body, i scream,
and i pound and cry and pull at these edges of walls,
where reality grows its layers
and sews into me,
and i get smaller,

and smaller,

and smaller,

and smaller,

and smaller,

and smaller.

it is too late, the last opening shuts,
the last lines are said,
the last act closes.

and i will be here,
always here,
small&small,
hollow&hollow.

do you want me back?

190928